by S. J. Blaze
I nod.
“Charlie, I need to hear you say it.”
“Okay. I’ll answer the door.”
“Good girl. I’m on my way.”
He hangs up and I continue staring at the devastation in my hand. I’m stuck on the ledge of my tub with this atrocious stick in between my fingers. This can’t be happening. This nightmare of my life keeps throwing me under.
Two lines have become my undoing. Parallel pink lines. Faint pink lines. Eternally parallel lines that will never meet. Endless lines. Something so benign that will change everything.
What am I going to do?
I hear a knock on the front door. Bullet must have invested in a teleporter. “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Baby girl, open the door.”
I attempt to open the door when I realize I have the stick in one hand and my cell in the other. I can’t seem to let go of either. I somehow maneuver around both and open the door.
“Shooter, what the hell is going on?” Bullet barges in and scans me over. I have no answer. I don’t even know what’s going on anymore. I shrug, and I guess that’s when he notices the stick in my hand.
“What’s that?” he croaks out and points to the atrocity still resting firmly in my grasp.
“It’s a stick. I peed on it.”
He nods. “Are you…um….are you?”
I nod. “There’s two lines.”
“Okay, baby girl. You wanna put the stick down?”
“I can’t. I think it’s stuck.”
“Okay.”
He gently wraps his hand around my back and ushers me into the kitchen. He somehow pries the stick from my hand and my cell, then washes both of our hands in the sink. His arm returns around my shoulder and he brings me over to the couch, sitting me down. He squats in front of me.
“I…need a minute, okay? Do you have a porch here?” I nod and point at the glass door off to the side. “Okay. I’ll be right back. Just sit here.” He grabs the remote, switches the TV on, and then pulls open the groaning glass doors. Zoning out, I watch him. He’s lighting up a cigarette and leaning over the railing with his bald head hanging low. After about five minutes, he comes back in, takes off his black leather jacket, and sits next to me.
“You started smoking again?”
“Yeah, it has been a rough few months.” Slipping his arms under me, he pulls me over his lap.
“So, we gonna talk about you getting knocked up?” I shake my head. “You wanna talk about why your douche bag husband came to see me?” I shake my head.
“I haven’t seen him since Monday.” He glances down to see that my rings are gone.
“You wanna tell me why you haven’t seen your husband in four days?” I hold up my finger, indicating that I need a minute, and climb off his lap, get my phone, and then return. I scroll through it, get to the video, and hand it to him.
“You want me to watch a door?”
I nod and rest my head against his shoulder. Closing my eyes, I try to block out the horrible noises and focus on Bullet. This is the first time I’ve felt any warmth in nearly a week. It relaxes me and I feel my muscles softening in response. Let the tension melt away, at least physically.
“Fuck…he’s dead. So fucking dead. Why didn’t you call me? Call someone?”
“Why? You were right, he did slice me open. Did you really think I could handle you rubbing it in my face?” My voice is monotone, there are no emotions left in me.
“Jesus, baby.” He rests his head against mine while closing his eyes. “I would never have said that. Shit, you’ve been sitting here alone all this time?”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Why aren’t you at your condo?”
“I gave it to a family. They needed a place to live. Their daughter is standing trial for murder two.”
“Oooo-kay? And what are ya gonna do about your husband?”
“I don’t have one.”
I explain everything that happened Monday. I feel so detached like I’m retelling the storyline of some character on a movie or in my favorite book.
“What about the baby?”
“What about it?”
“Are you going to tell Richie?”
“I’m not sure what to do anymore.”
“You should see a doctor. You need to get everything checked out.”
I nod. Yeah, I should probably do that. That’s what a responsible adult would do. A mom should know something like that, right? Already I’m fucking this up.
I call my obstetrician and schedule an appointment for Monday. One week after my failed marriage concluded in a fiery inferno, I’ll hear my baby’s heartbeat for the first time.
We order dinner and Bullet stays the night. Unlike the evil man that impregnated me, Bull sleeps in boxers, not boxer-briefs. He sort of has a thing about it. For every birthday, holiday, what-have-you, he requests boxers. It’s almost a game we play, to see who can get Bullet the craziest pair. So when I check him out in his boxers, it is purely for competitive purposes. Not in any other way and certainly not because he is a perfect physical specimen rendered with a virtuosity of tatted art. Tonight, he is wearing Fun Boxers, one hand points up and says ‘the Man,’ and the other points at his Mr. Happy and says, ‘the Legend.’ Why this cracks me up, who knows?
“Don’t laugh at my cock, baby girl. Missile is very sensitive.” I start laughing even harder. My sour mood be damned.
“Missile? What?” My face is all twisted with trying to keep my giggles in. Poor Mr. Happy.
“Yeah, baby girl. I’m Bullet…” He points to his chest. “This anaconda is Missile…” He cups his man meat. “And these guys are the rounds.” He smiles as he cups both balls. That’s it…tears fall I’m laughing so hard. I know the strangest people! Unable to stand, I fall onto the bed clutching my stomach and continue laughing.
“Oh, it’s funny, huh?” He jumps on top of me and starts tickling under my arms and my stomach. I can’t breathe I’m laughing so hard.
“Stop, stop. It’s not funny. Your Mr. Missile is wonderful!” I clutch my stomach, protectively.
“Fuck yeah, he is! All the ladies think so!” I give him a dirty look while rolling my eyes and throw him off me, his back hitting the bed hard.
I lie there panting, trying to catch my breath. I wish I could take my sleeping pill tonight, with all the thoughts in my head, I’m not sure I’ll get any rest and I’m so tired. But…the baby. I don’t know if I can take it. Something to ask the doctor on Monday.
Rolling over onto his stomach, he hovers to my side. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of ya.” He sweeps some of my hair to the side and leaves his thumb tracing back and forth over my lips. “I missed you,” he whispers while watching his movement. “I won’t let you go again.” Softly pecking my lips, he leans across me to turn the lamp off and then twirls me so that he can have my back. Spooning me the way he likes, he kisses my head a few times. “Sleep, baby girl. I gotcha.”
“You sure you want to be back there? I think I heard that pregnant women are rather flatulent.”
Snickering he asks, “Ya saying you’re gonna fart on me?”
“Well, I’m not currently in the mood but if I fancy a fart, you better watch out and hide your missile.”
“Shut it, Shooter girl or I’m gonna have to spank your sweet ass.”
******
Every morning, Coen calls and leaves a voice message. Sometimes, when I want to twist the knife inside my heart deeper, I listen. He tells me he can’t sleep without me. That he can’t live without me. How sorry he is. Yeah, it sure sounded like he was sorry when he was grunting and saying how good that bitch’s mouth felt around his, or rather my cock. Today, though, I listen.
I’m going to have to tell him. I’m going to have to do something.
Bullet left earlier this morning. He has a full lineup at the shop and then he’s heading to the BBMC compound. He wanted to take me, but I can’t stand the thought of everyone knowing that
my marriage was an absolute fuck up. I mean, what does that say about me? I wasn’t even married for three months. THREE MONTHS! That’s all the happiness that God allotted to me. All the shit and struggle and I only get three months to be happy.
And now….now I have to bring him back into my life. Eventually, watch him fall in love and marry another woman. A man like Coen isn’t going to stay single for long. As for me, I’ve given up on the notion of love. Well, in the romantic sense anyway. I will love my child. That will be my new passion. My son or daughter. The thought makes me smile.
Monday morning comes along. It’s a leap year and today is February 29, which I’m taking as a positive sign. Something rare, special, to be recognized and appreciated. I need to be more appreciative of all the blessings in my life. Despite my current situation.
For some insane reason, the trio pack decided they needed to be at my appointment. Malice swung by and picked me up, while the gang met us there. This is going to be terrible. I’m nervous as it is but add the trio and it’s bound to be a circus. To be honest, I could use all of their support, so I gladly take it.
Everyone stares at them as they walk into the waiting room. Bullet spots me first and picks me up and throws me across his lap kissing my brow. It’s comical as they gather themselves into the cramped undersized chairs and wait for my name to be called. When it finally is, all three stand up. “You can’t come back with me.”
“We sure as shit can. Or should we get LOUD?” Gunner elevates his voice with each word causing every head to turn. Blushing, I grab him and follow the nurse.
They have me urinate in a little cup, then weigh me, then ask me a billion questions, and finally they drain me of roughly half my blood.
“She’s a tiny thing, you’re gonna empty her. Shit, save some for the baby at least.” Bullet crosses his arms and glares at the nurse.
I apologize profusely and then we are ushered into a smaller waiting room for the doctor. I have to undress my lower half, so I make the guys wait outside and count to hundred, then come back in. I wore a long black skirt today with knee high boots, so changing comes easy and I’m on the table in no time. The guys come back in and start goofing off before the doctor enters.
“Congratulations, you are indeed pregnant, Mrs. Collins.” God, I hate that name. “Is Mr. Collins here to congratulate?” She looks at each of the trio.
“I’m the father,” Bullet pipes up. My head snaps in his direction. What?
“I’m the father,” Gunner adds, crossing his arms and puffing his chest out.
“Hell, I guess that makes me a daddy, too.” Trig puts his hands on his hips while straightening himself.
The doctor looks at me questioningly and I shrug. Yup, she probably thinks I’m a whore. Don’t know who the baby’s daddy is. Call Jerry Springer.
She internally checks me and does a pap smear, then tells me that I might be further along and need a sonogram to confirm my due date.
“Baby girl, tell her how you’re missing parts.” Bully’s brows raise and he looks at me expectantly. How does he know?
“Um, yeah. He’s right. I had a splenectomy and had some damage to my pancreas. Will this pose a threat to the baby or the pregnancy?”
“Yes, that puts you in the high risk category. Many women have complications during delivery and need a caesarian section. We will need to keep a close eye on your health. I’ll go ahead and prescribe you an iron supplement, if you aren’t already taking one, since you’ll most likely become anemic. Have you felt fatigued?”
“Yes, but I’ve been having trouble sleeping as it has been a difficult week for me.” I try to smile but I hear Bullet grunt and watch him turn away while scratching the back of his neck. He’s upset, again.
She exits the room and tells us that the sonographer will collect us soon. I’m so excited. I was thrilled at the thought of hearing my little peanut, but to see him/her…heck yeah! I maneuver my skirt under the weird hospital cover thing and stay barefoot until we are called to the next room.
When we finally are, Bullet carries me to the room, while Gunner grabs my stuff. “Didn’t want your pretty little feet to get dirty,” Bully whispers while smiling.
He plops me onto the examining table in the dark room and stands to the side. The other two come in and wait by my head while Bull holds my hand. He seems so nervous. The kid isn’t coming out anytime soon. The clinician whips out a long rod and rolls a condom onto it, and I look over at the guys to see all three sets of eyes grow huge. “What are you doing with that pole?” Bullet growls. I try to calm him down. This isn’t going to hurt, I hope. He still has a seriously tight grip on my hand and when the timid lady, who looks to be around her late twenties, shoves it inside of me, all three guys grunt.
I give them a singular eyebrow raise, babies. Immediately, the room is bathed in a strange thumping sound. It sounds like a washing machine on a high spin cycle and the screen before us comes to life. Life inside of me. I squeal in delight and Bullet rubs my arm.
The clinician, Emily, clicks on images and measures parts. Then she stops on the little heartbeat. My mini-me has this speedy little ticker beating to the beat of his or her own drum. The guys chuckle and comment on how he’s a boy and they can already tell he’ll have some serious rhythm. They are fighting over what instrument he will play. I remain mesmerized by that little ticking thing. I feel a warm breath by my ear. “Can you feel it?” Bully asks, kissing my cheek. I shake my head and continue staring down. I don’t want to miss any of this. I know they will take the picture away soon.
Emily explains that it is still too early to know the sex of the baby, but that my due date is August 30, which makes me roughly 15 weeks pregnant. I’m already in my second trimester.
She assured me that everything looked good and not to worry. She printed pictures and then Gunner asked if he could get a set, so the poor thing printed over a dozen copies. The guys started cooing that a baby Shooter would be here soon.
I freeze when I notice Emily’s eyes widen. “You’re Loaded Gun? Oh my gosh, I’m such a huge fan.” She looks down at me. “You’re Shooter? Can I get an autograph?” The guys look at me apologetically, but it’s too late. What if she spills to the press or something?
“Yeah,” Bully replies and walks over to her. “Just promise you’ll keep this to yourself, yeah?”
She nods as her mouth hangs open. Leaning forward she asks for a hug and he obliges. He gives me a small smile that I can’t seem to return.
We wrap up, dress, and I make my next appointment for two weeks. The doctor wants to keep an eye on me and is emphatically encouraging me to take things easy. Sure, failed marriage, lost job, lost home, finding out that I’m pregnant…not stressful at all, doc!
We grab a late lunch together and they drill me about my future plans. How can I make plans when the future keeps changing on me? Bull stays by my side for the duration of their pestering but remains mostly silent. He’s been acting weird.
The next month passes fairly smoothly. I had my second appointment two weeks ago and it wasn’t nearly eventful as the last. This time, I get another sonogram but most importantly, I will find out the sex of my baby. Since the guys scared poor Emily, I decided not to bring them.
Sometimes, they are too much for sane people to handle. Bullet moaned the most, but eventually gave up. He’s been really sweet to me lately. I missed having the trio around. They are my best friends and my odd little family.
Coen has been persistently calling, at least three to four times a day. As far as I can tell, he still doesn’t know where I’m staying. I’ve kept myself busy with running on the complex’s treadmill and doing light weights. I have also heavily connected with the DA’s office on Juanita’s case. They have already begun the preliminary work, but it looks like it’s a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. The Offense DA is seeking a full sentence and granted her a plea bargain with a guilty admission in exchange for fifteen years in a federal prison. Poor thing wo
uld never survive and I won’t let that happen. This one is going to court.
As I’m waiting in the smaller room for the doctor, a nurse opens the door and ushers Coen inside. “Here’s your wife’s room, Mr. Collins.” He thanks her and then stands next to me. He’s subdued and doesn’t utter a word while I’m freaking out with a million questions rolling in my head. How does he know? How did he find me?
The room is suffocating in complete silence, our personal thoughts doing the only speaking. I don’t look at him but I feel his presence and smell his familiar Coen scent. I can only close my eyes and pray this will be over soon. It was wrong of me to keep this from him but I was going to tell him. Eventually.
The doctor walks in and Coen immediately introduces himself as my husband and even shakes her hand. I don’t bother correcting him. She reviews my urine sample, chastising me on my low iron levels. She also found protein in my urine and wants me to come back next week to watch it. I agree to take better care of myself and she leaves to get Emily. From my periphery, Coen looks concerned, yet he remains silent.
We walk across the hallway to the sonogram room and Emily introduces herself to Coen, who makes her aware that he is my husband. Emily looks at me in confusion, remembering the trio. I shrug helplessly.
She lifts my shirt and plops some cold jelly on my stomach. Placing the little wand there, we get bathed in that glorious sound again as the picture comes to life. This time, I can see more detail. Fingers and even a full head of hair. We stay silent listening to the whooshing sound. Again, Emily takes measurements and reveals that I’m having a little…girl. Pink, pink, pink! My heart returns and explodes with joy.
I glance at Coen and he’s smiling vibrantly and wiping his eyes. I bet he didn’t expect this. She prints today’s pictures and hands them to Coen. We leave her room and walk to the counter to make my next appointment. He remains silent by my side.
We stride out of the office and into the main waiting area where Malice looks concerned when he spies Coen behind me. I widen my eyes at him, giving him the I-don’t-know-what-to-do look. Malice marches over, takes my elbow, and ushers me to the parking lot. Coen follows and when we arrive at the car, he pushes past Malice and buckles me in, his hand lingering over my growing stomach. It’s not really noticeable, yet, but I have to wear stretchy clothes now. My little baby bump seems to get bigger every day.
